


When Morning Comes - Skyhold

by ladyamesindy



Series: Taryn Trevelyan [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 00:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3789523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamesindy/pseuds/ladyamesindy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her family sent her to the Conclave to represent their interests, but Taryn Trevelyan both lost and found much more than she bargained for in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This set of chapters will focus on Taryn's adventures after the departure from Haven.

_Put one foot in front of the other._

Taryn bit back a groan, but followed the order.  Slowly and in great pain, but with determination.

_That’s right.  See?  You can do it!_

“Simon … ssssstop it!”

The cry, half agitated and half filled with fear, tore out of her without permission.  

Cold.  She was so damned cold, the excruciating ache of it seeping through each bone, each joint, sought to trip her up.  Make her fail.  The temptation to blame her parents for it all was great, though she was not _that_ far gone yet.  The jarring fall back in Haven hadn’t helped either, but those injuries (she hoped!) were minor.  No, right now it was the cold that was her greatest enemy for it would take the final toll if she was not careful.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Taryn found herself wondering if the cold wasn’t actually an ally of Corypheus, and the more destructive one at that.

 _How ironic_ , she mused.   _I survive the Conclave when no one else does.  I manage to deceive Corypheus long enough to get the people free from Haven.  …  Only to die from the snow and ice …._

Another cry, this time of pain, tore out of her.  The jolt of her knee as it made contact with the icy surface beneath the snow.  It manifested as a searing slice of fiery pain through her entire body, but for a moment only.  The thought at what could be bruising at the very least or something even more sinister faded quickly.  Even the ache of an arm she was certain must be broken had gone numb.  The chattering of her teeth that began in the tunnels beneath Haven had only grown steadily worse the longer she fought forward, the sound now mixing in her ears along with the howling of the wind.  

A long and plaintive mournful cry carried on the wind and broke through her personal misery for just a moment.  Slowly, Taryn’s head rose, eyes squinting as they battled the wind.  She half thought to echo the wolf’s cry, but it would do little to aid her current situation.

 _Another pass_ , she realized, almost able to see the edges of the peaks in the distance.   _They will be there … won’t they?_

_That’s it, Ryn!  One foot in front of the other!_

“Ssssimon!” she hissed, stumbling over something beneath the snow, but catching herself before she could actually tumble down.  With each fall, the will to rise back up and continue on lessened.

_Ryn … he’s right.  You CAN do this._

Maxwell’s shining face, the cheeky smile he used so expertly over the years to get out of nearly every scrape he got into, appeared before her, urging her forward.

“Nooooo,” she groaned, her uneven footsteps slogging forward.   _Oh, Maker, why?_ she asked silently.   _Why must you taunt me at a time such as this?_

_Ryn …._

Blinking back tears mixed with snowflakes, the blurred outlines of both brothers appeared before her, dressed in full Templar regalia as they had been at the Conclave, each extending a hand towards her.  Struggling mightily, Taryn raised her good hand in return, stretching as best she could.  Each step was a nightmare, a searing pain jolting raggedly through exposed skin and deep into the muscle beneath.  

 _Soon you can rest, Ryn_ , Maxwell promised.   _You only need to -_

An echo, faint and snatched quickly away by the ferocity of the wind, held her up for a moment, her brother’s words fading from her ears.  But in that moment, as she stood at the top of the rise, the hoary images of her siblings now vanishing, traded for a faint flicker of light in the valley below that caught her eye.  “Thank the Maker!” she breathed, fighting for one more step forward.  She thought she heard a shout, but between waves of utter relief washing through her and the resounding echoes of the howling wind in her ears, she could not be certain …

… until strong arms slid beneath her and her world began to shift, tilting precariously for a moment before steadying as she slumped against a solid wall of armor and muscle.  “We’ve found her!”  

_The Commander …._

Taryn struggled to lift an arm, to take hold around his shoulder in an effort to secure herself as he moved, but the limb would not respond properly.

“Hold steady,” the Commander told her, his arms tightening around her.  “I’ve got you.”

“C-c-c -”  Nothing, it seemed, could get past her throat.  “Coooold ….”

His hand shifted, coming to rest over her ear, pressing the other to his chest in protection.  The delay between recognition of this and hearing him shout, “Blankets!” should have clued her in to just how bad off she was, but even with others now gathering around, moving in to provide assistance, all she could seem to focus on just then was the strength that held her close and safe and, like her brothers, willed her to keep moving forward to fight on.

 


	2. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually the piece that started it all for my writings for Taryn. Everything else (including what I have posted so far) has come after. I have learned over the years not to argue with the muses when they decide to attack, just write it all down and then put it in some kind of order!

The door burst open with a loud bang of unexpected force.  Only years of training and service kept him from exhibiting signs of surprise, though it was easy to determine the cause. Seated at the desk, he looked across the room while schooling his features into something resembling neutrality.  “Inquisitor?”  The merest hint of a question cloaked his tone as he spoke, just on the off chance she had _meant_ to barge in unannounced as she had.

Their eyes met, the dark green of hers darting quick glances around the room through loose strands that curled around her eyes and cheeks.  “Commander,” she greeted, slightly breathless.

He waited a long moment and when it became clear she would speak no more, Cullen pushed himself back in his seat, dropping the quill to the side before folding his arms across his chest.  He noted her cheeks appeared flushed, if he was seeing correctly through those chestnut strands, with just a hint of a darkening across the skin … which also appeared to descend, only the faintest hint, to the edge of her collar and maybe below.

_Embarrassed._

Cullen bit back an amused smile.  He could guess the reason.  As skilled a warrior and leader for the Inquisition as she might be, Taryn Trevelyan had become notoriously famed for getting lost around the fortress of Skyhold.  

Pushing himself to his feet a moment later, Cullen kept his eyes upon her as he moved slowly across the room.  Since their first meeting, things had been … awkward.  Not necessarily in a bad way, but difficult nonetheless, and Cullen was finding that though it took time and patience, with every conversation he would uncover a new piece of information that helped him understand it better.  From what he’d been able to discover so far, most of it stemmed from his previous profession which, if he understood correctly, was to have become her fate despite her adamant refusals against it.  Though much of that awkwardness had abated since their escape from Haven, Cullen couldn’t help but wonder if she realized that, as the Inquisitor, her fate had forever been altered.

Still, when it came right down to it Cullen came to the conclusion that he did not want any of that awkwardness between them to remain.  There were enough stresses in their daily lives as it was - if he could put her at ease, he would do so.  He found her to be quite pleasant in her own right, too.  Intelligent.  Amusing at times, though her sense of humor was sometimes difficult to follow.  Charming.  He had seen her speak comfortably among nobles or soldiers or even the common folk, completely at ease.

At the moment, however, she appeared … agitated.  Out of sorts, perhaps?  Distressed might be pushing it too far.

Slowly, carefully, he moved around the desk.  And yet, with each step he drew nearer, he saw her cheeks darkening.  Frowning, he slowed further.  He was just moving around the front corner of his desk when he saw her hand lift, moving it slightly towards the door, only to flutter frantically as it neared.  “I’m so sorry I disturbed -”

Groaning softly, for he recognized that he had failed in his intent, Cullen closed the distance between them in two quick steps.  Instinct had him reaching out towards her, mouth opening to protest, but when their hands met in the process and tangled awkwardly, both retreated with a quick yank and a sharp look away from the other.

Cullen’s breath caught, his intentions now conveniently muddled by his unexpected reaction to the contact.  “You didn’t,” he rushed to assure her, hoping she wouldn’t flee.  “I mean … I wasn’t bus- … you weren’t dist-…  Oh, Maker’s breath!”  Grunting in disgust at his inability to respond properly, he muttered the last and turned his back to her ….

… and froze when he heard a soft, almost strangled laugh behind him.  Straightening to his full height, he ventured a glance back over his shoulder.  Was she ….  

It was the twinkle of mischief in her eyes that alerted him to the truth.   _She was!_  “Are you laughing at me?” he dared ask, unable to hide a touch of incredulousness in his tone.

“Who did what?” she protested instantly.  “I -  You can’t believe -  It wasn’t me!”  

Her voice squeaked, Cullen noted, though her eyes still sparkled.  That was a good sign at least.  Wasn’t it?  But, he now had verifiable proof that her voice actually squeaked.  Weeks before, Cullen had overheard Leliana and Josephine commenting on the Inquisitor, on how ‘adorable’ she could be when her voice squeaked when she was protesting something important.  That was back in Haven shortly after they’d all arrived.  Up to this point, however, Cullen had not noticed it himself.  They had spoken on occasion, of course, but he’d had no indication of any such thing.  Cassandra certainly never said anything about it either, and she spent more time with the Inquisitor out in the field under all sorts of stresses and situations … But Cullen now had evidence that she did actually squeak when caught off guard, and he found it … endearing.  

Time seemed to stand still for a moment.  And then another.  From one heartbeat to the next, Cullen found himself wondering if he was not simply dreaming this entire situation.  Had he fallen asleep at his desk?  His exhausted mind now playing tricks upon him?  Maybe if he pinched himself he would wake up ….

“I took a wrong turn.”

Cullen blinked at the softly worded and slightly sheepish admission.  “You ….”  He paused, sighing gently, his lips curving just slightly upwards at the corner.  “Of course you did,” he murmured.  “Where were you headed?”

“The kitchens.”  Her eyes met his, still twinkling, as she continued with her confession.  “I missed out on lunch, so I thought I could get something to tide me over until this evening.”

The smile widened.  She had missed her mark by quite a bit this time, hadn’t she?  “Ah.  If you like, I can show you the way?” he offered.  

The flush in her cheeks appeared darker as they stepped outside his office, but it began fading soon enough after they started off in the right direction.  

It would only occur to him much later and after careful recollection of this particular incident that perhaps the Inquisitor had actually _meant_ to get lost by way of his office ….


	3. The Price of Duty (A)

  

Intent and purpose often made decent bedfellows, unless it was shattered by something altogether unexpected.  Her arrival at the Commander’s office had both, completely aside from Cassandra’s urging, though neither were at the forefront of thought just then.  Eyes lifted slowly from the shattered box and broken implements that now lay in a heap near her feet, having only just met their maker seconds before.  Recognition of the contents was instant as was the surge of alarm that traveled through her and set in.  

Cullen’s lyrium kit.

“Maker’s Breath!”  Their eyes met next and she saw the shock in his mixed with concern.  “I didn’t know you were there!”

Taryn held his gaze a long moment.  For a while now, much longer than she could actually put an amount of time to, she supposed, she had been debating whether she should tell him that she already knew.   _WHAT_ she already knew.  It was a secret to be kept within the ranks of the Order, and openly admitting to such knowledge could result in dire consequences for her, or at the very least her brothers - assuming they _had_ , Maker willing, somehow survived.   

_As if being touted as the Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition, wasn’t trouble enough on your plate right now?_

Movement, filled with purpose as much as with intent, brought her thoughts immediately back to the moment at hand as he rounded his desk and strode towards her.  “Cullen … don’t!”  Desperate to keep him from making a huge mistake, she reached out and grasped his arm, sliding her body between him and the wreckage when he would have moved to pick it up.  “Please!”

Their eyes continued to hold.  “I owe the Inquisition nothing less than my best,” he told her, though he did not fight her restraint.  “I -”

Swallowing tightly, Taryn stood nose to nose with him and replied firmly, “You _are_ giving the Inquisition your best!  Trust me when I tell you that relying on this,” she gestured towards the mess at their feet, “is most definitely the _wrong_ choice!”

At first, if she read his reactions correctly, he did not seem to understand.  He had his usual look of determination, the one that openly screamed nothing would stop him from doing what he felt needed to be done.  Of course, she reasoned, he wouldn’t expect her to know anything about it since knowledge of its use outside the Order was very limited.  Or, was supposed to be anyway.  She _had_ heard references to lyrium use by the Templars since the formation of the Inquisition, especially once they had joined the Inquisition’s cause, though it was only in passing.  One of their own was put in charge of filing requisitions for their needs, and ultimately, nothing had been brought specifically to the Inquisitor’s attention that would indicate the dependent relationship.  Certainly nothing that could explain away her words or such a strong reaction on her part right now.  Unless, of course, he _knew_ of Cassandra’s conversation with her, which _was_ possible since the last he’d seen of her Cassandra was present, but given his current state, she doubted he would make that leap.

Somewhere between there and now, he figured it out.  Taryn recognized the instant full understanding hit him.  Observed his eyes widen in shock and surprise.  Heard the soft hitching catch in his lungs as he inhaled sharply.  Releasing her grasp on him, she took a step back, but she never broke eye contact with him.  This was too important.  To him.  To the Inquisition.  To a possibility of _them_.  

“How - how do you know?” he asked.

“That isn’t the point,” she started, attempting to divert the conversation.  Maybe later she could tell him, but not now.  “Cullen, from what both you and Cassandra have told me, you have come _such_ a long way!  You can’t stop now!  It would be such a shame if you -”

“How.  Do.  You.  Know?”

Taryn sighed.  Though his voice did not rise, each word bore the weight of command aimed directly at her.   _Stubborn, stubborn man!_ she thought.   _Can you not see now is not the time!_  Eyes finally dropping to a spot on the floor near her feet, she pleaded softly, “Cullen ….”

His hands, almost vise-like in their grasp, caught her upper arms.  Startled, her head snapped back up, eyes meeting his again.  But where she expected to find anger, she instead found … fear?  Was she misreading him?  

“My loyalty no longer lies with the Order,” he reminded her, “but with the Inquisition.  Duty is all I’ve ever known.  But this … this isn’t duty so much as it is a necessity -”

“No!”  Taryn twisted, breaking free of his grasp easily enough.  Closing the last of the distance between them, she raised a hand to rest at his cheek.  “It is _not_ a necessity,” she insisted fervently.  “It is only a leash by which the Chantry binds you to them!  They would _like_ for you to believe it is necessary, but ….”  

Cullen pulled back sharply and Taryn’s breath caught, a heavy pressure building over her heart as he turned away.  Her outburst caught her off guard and clearly it set him on edge.   _Too much, too soon_ , she thought.   _Approach it more carefully.  Logically._ But desperation to make him understand more fully was nearly overwhelming her.    Swallowing back everything but her focus on him and this situation, she desperately sought a better explanation for him and reached for the only other thing she could compare it to.

“Have you spoken to Cassandra?”

He froze mid-stride but kept his back towards her.  “I tried to convince her to replace me,” he admitted after a moment, resignation saturating his tone.  “She … does not share that view.  But if you think I am that far gone -”

Sighing, Taryn shook her head even if he couldn’t see it.  “No,” she cut him off.  “I meant since our return from Caer Oswin.  Have you spoken to her about what happened there?”  Taryn didn’t wait for a reply, but continued on.  “I went to check on her.  To see how she fared after having to destroy Lord Seeker Lucius.  When we left Caer Oswin, she retrieved the Book of Secrets Lucius had and brought it with her.  When I found her later, she’d already read through it.”  

Taryn paused a moment.  Still, he did not turn to face her, but he did at least appear to be listening.   _Cassandra will kill me if she finds out I told him this,_ she thought, _but I have to make him see!_  “Did you know, the Rite of Tranquility can be reversed.”

That had him spinning on his heel.  Brown eyes met green.  “What does that have to do with lyrium useage by Templars?” he demanded.

Patiently, she explained.  “Cassandra found out that the Rite can be reversed.  It was something that had always been known, but it was kept quiet.”  The confusion remained, evident in the furrowing of his brow.  “Cullen, don’t you see?  It is like lyrium usage for the Templars -  it, too, is a leash.  A way to keep mages under control by the Chantry.  And like the Rite, usage of lyrium can be ended.  Reversed, if you will!”

Did she imagine his face paling even more?  “Maker’s breath …”  Perhaps not.  

Swallowing tightly, Taryn laced her fingers together in front of her, wringing them around one another in a nervous reaction.  She _HAD_ to tell him now.  Good, bad, or otherwise to their friendship, he had to know!  She could not, in good conscience, let him turn back on that path!

“The first I received any indication that something was wrong came from my older brother, Simon,” she began solemnly.  “About six years ago, shortly after he first took his vows.  He came home for a visit, spent much of the time with my brother Maxwell who was to follow in his steps and take his own vows within the year.”  She gave him a somewhat embarrassed look.  “I walked in on a part of a conversation I was not meant to hear.”

The ache, somewhat under control of late, surged through her once again with the thought of her siblings.  “Simon was talking about one of the older members of the Order who had taken ‘very ill’ of late.  When I joined them, Max had this horrified expression on his face.  Simon, well, he just looked … resigned.  When they both saw me standing there, their conversation ceased and nothing I could say would return them to it.”

Taryn turned towards Cullen’s desk and began to search for items to distract her.  Tracing the edge of one of the books.  Running her fingertip along the feathered quill.  Catching part of another letter from Cullen’s sister, Mia, that was lying out in the open.  The ache flared again, then settled back down.

“A little over a year ago, I received a message from Max.  I knew it was important since he sent it through a mutual friend rather than to our family estate.”  

_Ryn, whatever happens, do not let Father send you down this path!_

“The message itself wasn’t much,” her voice was nearly a whisper now, her shoulders trembling slightly.  “But Max and I are … _were_ very close.  He wanted a meeting.  When I went, I met with both him and Simon and they explained the entirety of it to me then.”  

Silence hung between them for a long moment.  

“Is that why you were at odds with your father?”

The smile that pulled the corner of her lips was wry.  “I am often at odds with my parents,” she admitted.  “Though I tend to keep that part restricted to home.  Maker forbid I scandalize the family somehow!”

“Ryn -”

Her hand sliced through the air between them, cutting him off; not because of his use of the familiarity, but rather to keep him from switching the topic.  They weren’t here to discuss that right now.  She would not be put off.  “My point, Cullen, is that I _know._  I was informed about the requirement.  I understand how it is used.  Once I had that information, the _why_ was not difficult to determine.”

A longer silence this time.  “The Chantry insists that lyrium enhances our abilities.”

Taryn winced.  “But at what cost?” she asked, her voice a raw, hoarse whisper now as she struggled.  This was turning out to be more difficult topic than she’d expected.  He’d come so far, further than most if she believed what her brothers had told her and she had no cause not to believe them.  “Trust me when I tell you that from what Cassandra has told me, you almost have this thing defeated, Cullen!”  Maker, the details Maxwell and Simon had given her - as if they’d been needed in the first place to convince her! - still haunted her dreams at times, and certainly no more so than right this very moment.  

Reaching for him, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and held.  Tight.  Desperation was peeking through once more, but also something more.  Maker, she cared for him!  But if they were to ever have any chance at a future together after all of this ….

He pulled, attempting to break free, but she held firm.  She was stronger than she looked, than many gave her credit for.  The only one to have seen or at the very least comment on it so far had been Dorian, but then that didn’t surprise Taryn either.  Her cousin was much more than what he seemed as well.  

“Release me.”

Another wince, this time at the flatness, the demanding in his tone, but Taryn refused.  “I … I can’t,” she told him.  “Please understand.”

“Do _you_ not understand?” he demanded, his voice nearly a growl now.  “I was a fool to think I could succeed at this - to even attempt it now!  I have no choice!”

“You have _always_ had a choice, Cullen,” she reminded him.  “Had you not, you would never have started down this path to begin with.”

“The Chantry -”

She stomped her booted foot between them, hard enough to make the desk shake and rattle.  His eyes widened a bit, but Taryn cared not at this point.  “We are not the Chantry!” she rasped.  “We are the Inquisition!  Are we not trying to make things right that the Chantry set astray to begin with?”

He tugged yet again to no avail, but his eyes held hers.  It was then that she saw something behind his eyes break.  “I … I was stationed at the Circle in Ferelden,” he began slowly.  “When the Circle fell during the Blight, when it was taken over by abominations, I was imprisoned like my fellow Templars.  Tortured.  They tried to break my mind.”

Taryn released her hold immediately; not so much because she was afraid he would feel imprisoned by it, but rather because she knew from personal experience that having the ability to move around when speaking of something so traumatic might be necessary for peace of mind.

“How do you come back from something like that?” he asked, turning towards the window, staring out beyond.  “I eventually transferred to Kirkwall hoping distance might help.  When there, I trusted my Knight-Commander, believing that her leadership and the tenets of the Order would help me find my way through.”

“Meredith betrayed that trust,” Taryn couldn’t help but point out.  

He grunted softly, nodding once.  “She did.  But by then ….”  Sighing heavily, he turned back to face her.  “I was assisting with the recovery efforts in Kirkwall when I met Cassandra.  I’m not sure exactly what she saw in me, how she even could see it at that point, but after all that had happened … when she asked me to join the Inquisition, I agreed.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “Believe me when I tell you that my duty to the Order ended there.  To prove it, to her or to myself I’m not quite sure now, I decided to stop taking the lyrium.  Like you said, it was a leash, tying me to Chantry control.”

If he could see that ….  “Then why go back now?”

He crossed the room to the bookshelf, inspecting the shelf as if it contained some of the most important books in all of Thedas.  “One of the … downsides to not taking it,” he said in a quieter tone, “are the nightmares.  More frequent.  Stronger.  Kinloch Hold.  Kirkwall.  Haven.”  He sighed heavily, then added, “The toll they take is -”

Taryn groaned.  “I can imagine,” she replied.  If they were anything like the ones she occasionally had, and they were likely worse, they would rank right up with being among the most horrific.  

“From past experience,  I can tell you that with the lyrium, the nightmares are not as bad.”

Taryn grunted her disgust.  “Only because your body is craving the lyrium!” she pointed out.  “Cullen, please!  You’ve made it farther than most ever could!  Give it more time.  Once you’ve been off it longer, the nightmares will fade and ….”

His eyes snapped towards hers, narrowing sharply, final pieces beginning to fall into place.  “And how do you know this?”

Taryn swallowed tightly.  “Cullen -”

“How?”

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment.  “Simon,” she finally admitted.  “After he and Max told me, they both tried to remove themselves from the lyrium’s control without the Order knowing.  Max had an easier time of it as he’d not been subjected to it for as long.  Simon, on the other hand … it wasn’t as bad for him as it has been for you, I’m sure, but it was more difficult than Max, and in the end ....”

Cullen stared at her for a long moment.  “Yet they remained Templars?”

Taryn nodded.  “They and a few others, mostly newer recruits who felt the same, pretended to still be taking it.  The problem for Simon came when trying to hide the withdrawal symptoms from his superiors.  Because he had been taking it longer, his reactions were … stronger.  More noticeable.  He … he was found out and forced by the Order to return to the daily requirement.”  She ran her hands over her face.  

“But Maxwell …?”

“Was successful,” she clarified.  “When we left Ostwick for the Conclave, they both told me in detail what happened.  The Order still believed Max to be taking his daily dosage and he took every precaution to make it appear that he was.”

Reaching out towards him, Taryn caught her hand on the material of his uniform.  She held lightly, just in case he wanted to pull free.  “Cullen,” she murmured, “please!  I … I’ve come to care a great deal about you.  I would hate to see you give up on this when you are so close to succeeding!  I beg of you, do not give in to the temptation when you are this close!”  

The ultimate decision, of course, was his to make.  Knowing this, Taryn turned back towards the door.  She was just reaching for the handle when she heard him speak.

“Inquisitor,” he began, his voice rough, weary, almost as if he had been fighting a difficult battle against the enemies of the Inquisition.  “Ryn,” he started again a moment later.  Taryn paused, but did not turn to face him just yet.  “If … If I asked you to stay, would you -”

A shudder rolled through her shoulders.  Did he have any idea what those words did to her?  Meant to her?  Or were they simply someone asking for the assistance of a friend, rather than someone or something more?  Her hand tightened around the door handle, the cool metal biting into her palm.  “Cullen, I -”

Booted steps approached, caution in each step.  His hand settled at her shoulder nearly breaking her resolve then and there.  Eyes closed tightly, Taryn drew in a shallow breath and held it, waiting.

“I care about you, too,” he murmured.  Her breath left in a rush.  Only then did Taryn turn from the door to face him.  “I will stay the course.”

“Thank you.”  Reaching for him, she wrapped her arms around him, sighing in relief as his followed suit.  A moment later, she lifted her head, eyes finding his and having every intention of thanking him one last time, but he moved at the same time and instead of speaking, Taryn found herself caught up in a wave of emotion so strong and wondrous as his lips met hers that she had no other recourse but to follow the tide.  Heat built with the touch - gentle and cautious at first until the need for something more desperate overcame them - pooling throughout her body.  She lifted her hands to rest at his arms, holding herself steady when, a moment later, he pulled back and she realized his hands had settled at her hips.  

For a long moment, they simply stared at one another in silence, only the sound of their erratic breathing echoing around them.  Surprisingly, it was Cullen who broke it first.  “You … did not come here for such heavy discussion, I think,” he observed quietly.

“Erm, I ….”  Flustered still, Taryn struggled to recall the original purpose of her arrival in his office in the first place.  “No, actually.  I mean … Cassandra was worried, after your discussion in the armory, and … I was on my way to ….  Oh Maker, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

The ease with which he found his laughter was reassuring, especially after how heated their discussion _had_ become.  Raising his hand, he set his palm to her cheek, rubbing his thumb lightly along the skin there.  “Believe it or not,” he murmured, “it is nice to know you are as affected by this as I.”

Her eyes widened, but she felt the pull of a smile at her lips.  Tilting her head slightly into his touch, she turned just enough to press her lips lightly to the bare skin of his wrist.  “I’m glad you find it amusing,” she replied without heat.  Sighing, she shut her eyes for a moment and refocused her thoughts.  “I am leaving in the morning,” she announced, eyes opening again and finding his.  “Myself, Dorian, Varric and Cassandra.”

The change that came over him was instantaneous.  From relaxed to all business in less than a blink of an eye.  Taryn felt an ache build at the sight and cursed that she had brought it upon him.  “Where to this time?” he asked.

“The Hissing Wastes.  It’s time we dealt with things there.”

“Indeed.”  But where she thought he might simply return to his desk - they often discussed her travel plans before her departures - he pulled her close for a moment instead.  “Maker keep you safe, Ryn,” she heard him murmur softly into her hair before releasing his hold.  She followed after, noticing that despite the severity of their conversation or the admissions that followed on its heels, he appeared to be more relaxed.  Resolved, even, and that gave her hope - for him, for her, for _them_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of things to note:
> 
> This is the first of a five chapter mini-book of sorts. I plan to post them one after another so as not to disrupt the continuity. For reference purposes, each of these chapters will have a corresponding letter after it in parenthesis.
> 
> This particular chapter is a variation of the in-game discussion between the Inquisitor and Cullen regarding his use of lyrium. I have been eluding to it vaguely in previous chapters (in Haven and in Skyhold), but for clarification purposes, Taryn Trevelyan does not have any issue with becoming a templar, per se. The issue she has is with the Chantry's use of lyrium as a way to keep the templars under control. Unlike the game which has to inform the player of all the bits regarding its usage, and thus you 'know' some of the Templar Secrets (like Warden Secrets, only holier?), I am going under the assumption that Taryn would not otherwise know about its use as a 'leash' by the Chantry - except that her brothers informed her and tried to steer her away. (I'm not sure yet if this will come into further play in her story or not)


	4. Faded Dreams (B)

There was a movement, up ahead and to the right.  Just enough to alert Taryn and the others that they would soon have company.  Jaw setting tightly, Taryn waved Varric and Dorian off to the side for the moment while she and Cassandra moved in as close as they dared, shields and swords at the ready.  

“Red lyrium,” Varric called out quietly in warning, pitching his voice towards them.  If anyone would know, it would be Varric.  

Taryn’s jaw tightened further.  Red lyrium.  That would likely mean more infected templars.   _Such a waste_.

Cassandra observed, “These templars look too far gone to be saved.”

Sighing, the Inquisitor had to agree.  They were still a distance away, but she could see that a few of the group were showing the more outward signs of corruption.  The growth of the red lyrium crystals projecting from the body itself was an obvious giveaway.

Turning, Taryn waved both Varric and Dorian forward, pointing placement to them as she and Cassandra both rose to their feet.  It was time to get this over with.

As with every battle, there was a plan going in.  Dorian and Varric would remain at range for as long as possible focusing on picking off the opposition’s ranged attackers while Taryn and Cassandra would go head to head with the hard hitters, wearing them down as much as possible so that the range attacks could finish them off.  Of course, the plan lasted only so long as the enemy they were fighting cooperated with the placement of their troops; which was to say, not very often at all.  Within minutes, the battle plan was under revisement, adjustment, and sometimes a whole lot of improvisation.  Thankfully for Taryn, Dorian, Varric and Cassandra were well used to working with one another.

Two guards, up front and shields raised, were the immediate targets for Taryn and Cassandra this time.  It took some doing and more than a little bit of distraction and help from Varric and Dorian before they finally went down.  At that point, Taryn lost sight of who Cassandra went after as she was approached on her left by another warrior.  Shield up.  Helmet secured.  Sword ….

_She knew that sword!_

“S-Simon?”

Taryn felt her limbs go heavy, dawning recognition of the blade held before her causing her eyes to widen in horror.  The sight in front of her left her completely transfixed.  Upon joining the order and taking their vows, each of her brothers had given up their worldly possessions … but they had found a small niche for individuality.  The Trevelyan family crest, etched into the hilt of the blade they carried.  Small enough most people never even noticed it, but easy enough for one who had seen it up close to catch when the sunlight glinted off its edges.

But the man before her bearing the sword bore little resemblance to the brother she’d last seen at the Conclave so many months before.  Through the slits of his helm, she could see the telltale signs.  Red veins streaking across the skin on his face.  The ever present redness in his eyes; a horrifying sight to be sure.  And when he lunged at her, apparently unable to recognize her for kin, or at the very least the sound of her voice, she noticed the first protruding hints of crystals forming, breaking through sections of his armor on his arms, his shoulders, his back.

“Simon, it’s me!  It’s Ryn!” she shouted, lifting her shield to block the downward slice of his blade towards her neck.  

All sounds of battle faded into the background save those between her and Simon.  Taryn held on for as long as she could, a combination of restraint and logical argument her weapons as she tried to break through the red lyrium haze that possessed him, but when he knocked her down, standing over her with his weapon held high above her head ---

 

~ n ~

 

Bolting upright, Taryn could hear the echoes of her voice throughout the tent.   _No!_  Shuddering, gasping for breath, she drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face as she sobbed.   _Maker’s breath, why this?_

“Inquisitor?”

Jerking back upright, Taryn took a couple of deep, steadying breaths before daring to speak.  “I’m alright,” she called out to the guard.  “Bad dream is all.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rising to her feet, Taryn began pacing up and down the length of the tent, willing the remnants of the dream - _nightmare!_ \- to leave.  Maker’s breath, this had been a bad one!  

After a time, realizing that she was not going to be able to get any more restful sleep anytime soon, she donned her clothes and exited the tent, making her way to the fire so she could make some tea instead.  As she waited, she looked upwards, eyes identifying the various constellations, watching the moon descend in the distance.  It was such a different world out here; quiet and peaceful in its own way, but just as dangerous as any other place they’d visited.  Perhaps more so in some ways.  

Cup in hand, Taryn began walking the perimeter of the camp as she drank, feeling the earlier panic and fright slowly bleed from her as she did, until she felt almost ready to head back to the tent to rest again.  

It was then she spotted it, over by the requisitions table, bundled up and prepared to be sent back to Skyhold with the rest of the things they’d collected so far:  Red Templar armor and other gear.  The shudders returned with a fury all their own.  A fury that took root deep inside her belly, grasping, clawing, clenching so tight that had she been asked, she might compare it to being possessed.  

Swallowing tightly, Taryn tossed the rest of her drink aside and turned back towards her tent, whispering, “Simon.”  But in her heart, she felt a renewed sense of purpose.  Of focus.  Determination.  Corypheus might have taken her brothers from her at the Conclave never to be seen again, but she would be _damned_ if she would let him take away the memories of who and what they were, twisting and corrupting them into something of his choosing.  This time, he’d gone too far.

The others were beginning to rouse for the day when she neared the opening to her tent.  Glancing sharply over at Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra, she announced coldly, “Get ready.  We’ve got work to do.  We’ll leave within the hour.”  They had a mission.  It was time to get it done.

 


	5. Insider Information (C)

“So, Commander, I see that you have taken a slightly more than professional interest in our lovely Inquisitor.”

Cullen’s eyes closed as he counted backwards from ten.   _Dorian_.  He had enough on his plate at the moment testing his limits.  He certainly didn’t need this.  “I am rather busy at the moment,” he interjected, eyes focused on the piece of parchment lying in front of him rather than at the mage standing just outside the open door.  Dorian didn’t need to know that it was another letter from Mia.  The only question he had was, would he take the hint?

Accepting the reply as an invitation (when did he ever not?), Dorian stepped into the dimly lit room.  Sighing, Cullen set the letter aside and lifted his head to give the mage a dark look.  He was not in the mood for games, or teasing of any sort just now.  “What is it?” he snapped.

Dorian chuckled, a smirk forming on his lips.  “My my,” he mused, moving over to lean his shoulder on the ladder leading up to the loft as he gave Cullen a long and considering look.  “I hadn’t realized it was quite as bad as all that.”

Cullen’s eyes rolled - he couldn’t help it.  He also knew Dorian noticed when his laughter deepened.   _Maker, help me through this!_  Smiting the mage was not an option, he supposed, considering that Taryn was rather fond of her cousin despite what Cullen felt was his annoying personality.  “What do you want, _Mage_?” Cullen growled after a moment.

But from one moment to the next, the mood in the room suddenly shifted, and for just an instant, Cullen wondered if Dorian had cast one of his spells.  Gone was the annoying yet considerably more comfortable teasing and toying, and in its place something much more … cold.  Dark in its own way.  It was frightening, really, and Cullen had to force back the instinct to automatically cleanse the area of all magic.  It was only when Dorian spoke again that Cullen realized it had not been one of his spells at all.

“Have you ever witnessed our lovely Inquisitor in battle, Commander?” Dorian asked.  It was a rhetorical question: both had been at Adamant Fortress, now weeks past.  Dorian’s voice dropped to a tone he only used when speaking of quite serious matters, though, and Cullen could feel a chill creep across the back of his neck as a result.  The few times he’d heard it before it hadn’t meant anything good.  “It’s rather frightening, really.  Especially of late.  Her focus becomes so narrow that there have been times I wondered if she recognized the difference between me and the enemy.”  

Cullen blinked in surprise at this announcement.  “She … she hasn’t _attacked_ you, has she?” he asked.

Dorian shook his head.  “No, of course not.  However, I _have_ seen her pull herself up short a time or two, just before she might have.  Speak to Varric, I’m certain he has had similar experiences.”

Sitting back in his seat, Cullen’s full attention was on the mage.  “And Cassandra?”

Again, Dorian shook his head.  “I highly doubt our esteemed Seeker has noticed,” his lips curved into a wry grin, “and if she had, I suspect that she might consider it ‘normal’”.  

Cullen remained silent for a moment, his thoughts churning.  “And why does she act this way?” he finally inquired.  “I am presuming this is more than a one time occurrence?”

Dorian sighed, straightening and crossing towards the desk.  “It is,” he agreed quietly, as if suddenly realizing the walls might have ears.  “It was especially bad this last trip, however.”

_This last trip_.  The Hissing Wastes?  “Why?”  From the reports Cullen had seen, they had only come upon Venatori, a few rifts and some dwarven ruins.  Nothing really spectacular in the grand scheme of things.

“I don’t _know_ for a fact the reason behind it,” Dorian began and Cullen nodded, “but I _think_ it might have something to do with the Red Templars accompanying the Venatori we ran into.  After encountering them, she seemed to … It’s difficult to put into words, exactly.  Her anger seemed to _grow_.  If one could measure such things, I would dare say the force of her hits increased as well.  She almost appeared … vicious in the way she was attacking them.”

_Red Templars._  Cullen took a deep breath and mentally winced.  And right after their discussion before her departure about whether or not he should continue his use of lyrium.  Was that it?  He’d tried to explain that the use of red lyrium was different, but perhaps she’d not understood?

“It could also have to do with something I overheard one night in camp,” the mage amended after a moment.  

Cullen’s eyes shot back to his.  “And that was?”

“Has she spoken to you much of her family?”  Cullen nodded.  “I presumed she had, but I didn’t want to make any assumptions.  She was very close to her brothers, you know.”

Cullen’s eyes closed again.   _Still?_  “Simon and Maxwell,” he murmured.  

“Ah, good.  She did tell you.  After one of our busier days out in the Wastes, I woke to hear the Inquisitor shouting inside her tent.”

Cullen froze, eyes opening again.  “Shouting?”

“More like crying out in her sleep, I suppose,” he clarified, “but she sounded as if she was reliving a battle … only it was a battle we’d never fought.  I overheard Cassandra mentioned, and Varric and even myself, but near the end, her voice changed.  She sounded … frightened.  Disbelieving.”  Dorian frowned as if searching for an appropriate word.  “Terror-stricken, maybe?  I also heard her pleading … with Simon.”  Sighing, Dorian straightened.  “I know you care for her, Commander, and I know that she cares for you.  I am telling you this in the hopes that maybe you can speak with her.  Reach out to her and find out what is troubling her.  Help her when she will not let any of the rest of us close enough to do so.  Something is driving her in a very dangerous direction, and if she is not careful ….”

Cullen rose to his feet, but remained silent.  

“Whatever it was she was dreaming, it was after that she … changed.”  Dorian managed an amused chuckle once again.  “Have you ever seen her in full battle mode?  No?  You should sometime.  She is quite the intimidating figure, I can assure you.  A whirlwind in action, you might say, and just as fierce.  Add in these more recent changes and, well, I’m quite surprised old Corypheus doesn’t turn tail and run in the opposite direction.”  

But behind the mage’s attempt at humor, Cullen could hear the overlying concern.  For the second time in mere minutes, he was repeating himself.   _This must be serious._  “I will speak with her,” Cullen promised.   

“Good then.”  The smirk was back, lighting up the mage’s face once again as he turned towards the door.  “Oh, and just remember, Commander …”

_Here it comes_ , Cullen thought,  the glint in Dorian’s eyes almost as informative as his tone just then.  “Yes?”

At the doorway, Dorian turned back to face him, his face now a mixture of amusement and determination.   _Iron hand in velvet glove_.  “Should you hurt her, you will have much more than just me to deal with, of that I can promise.”

Sighing, Cullen tossed his hands in the air.  “Why is it no one ever warns her about hurting me?” he asked.

His reply was the echoing laughter of amusement as Dorian returned to the main keep.  

 


	6. Can We Talk? (D)

Assuring Dorian that he would talk with the Inquisitor was one thing.  Actually _finding_ her current location inside a fortress as large as Skyhold was something else entirely.  Though she had her favorite haunts - sitting in _Herald’s Rest_ and trading stories with Iron Bull or Krem was one; sitting on the staircase in the stables and watching Blackwall work on his carving was another - Cullen could admit that he did not know _all_ of her favorite places.  Yet.  After searching the more familiar ones, and checking with Cole, Cassandra, and Sera who he happened to run into, Cullen sought out Josephine under the theory that the ball at the Empress Celine’s Winter Palace would be soon and if Josephine was anything like predictable, she would be after Taryn about what she would be wearing at the ball, too.  Maker knew the ambassador had been after _him_ for weeks now ….

Josephine admitted that she hadn’t seen the Inquisitor since her return from the _Wastes_ earlier in the day.  Neither had Varric, nor Solas, nor even Vivienne, upon further investigation.  In the end, it was only thanks to a chance encounter with Mother Giselle as Cullen strode towards the exit of the main hall that he was given any indication of Taryn’s present whereabouts.

“Excuse me, Commander?”

Cullen swallowed back a sigh of frustration.  “Mother Giselle.”  There was just the vaguest hint of impatience in his tone he couldn’t quite tamp down.

She smiled in understanding.  “I wonder, Commander, if you might be able to help me with something.”

Cullen paused, turning to give her his full attention.  “How may I be of service?”

The woman actually chuckled and that had one of Cullen’s brows rising.  “I believe it is I who might be able to assist you,” she informed him.  “I think you will find what you seek in the garden chapel.”

“In the ….”  Cullen caught himself from repeating what she had just said and instead nodded as her meaning slowly became clear.  “Thank you, Mother Giselle.  I will look there.”  Without another word, he altered his exit path and turned out the side door.

 

~ n ~

 

As Cullen strode through the cloister, one thing became immediately clear: the area surrounding the chapel was empty of all people.  Where usually there would be someone - guests, servants, occasionally one of their companions - roaming around or sitting and talking quietly, all of that was suspiciously absent today.  He wondered if that had been the Revered Mother’s doing or the Inquisitor’s.  

The door to the chapel was ajar, not much but just enough that a gentle nudge with his shoulder sent it further open in a quiet manner.  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior, and when it did, his initial reaction was to think that perhaps he had missed her …

… until he saw the faintest flutter of movement in the corner.  Just a hint of material blowing in the breeze, perhaps enhanced by the flickering of candle flames in the immediate vicinity.  Stepping inside the room, he closed the door behind him, leaning back against it and searching for a way to ….

“Why are you here?”

Her voice sounded rough.  A dry rasp, almost.  As if she’d spent a while crying … or had walked across a desert while fighting a raging thirst.  Perhaps both, seeing as she’d just returned from the Hissing Wastes.  

“I was looking for you,” he replied quietly, remaining by the door.  It took some effort to locate her shape in that shadowy corner, but he finally managed to do so.  But what he found there had him gasping in shock.  Perhaps it was only a trick of the insufficient lighting, but she looked just as ragged and ravaged as her voice sounded.  Dark circles beneath her eyes.  Deepened hollows in her cheeks.  Even the skin around her neck appeared to show a tightness, marking veins, muscle and bone much more easily than before she departed Skyhold weeks before.  

Her eyes found his and in them he found pain and sorrow so overwhelming he nearly cried out from it.  Instead, he turned to face her, but remained by the door in order not to frighten her with any sudden or unsuspecting moves.  

“Trust me,” she told him, “you do not want to see me right now.”

Time seemed suspended between them for a moment as silence fell.  He felt a desperation surge through him, almost a panic, but years of learning patience during his Templar training kept him from speaking or moving just then.  Instead, he simply stood there, biding his time.  “I do,” he finally insisted quietly.  “Want to see you, that is.”

She snorted, breaking their gaze as she looked towards the statue of Andraste to his left.  “Cullen -”

Her voice broke and he heard the ache in it.  Defeat.  He couldn’t have held back any longer even if his life had depended upon it, and he crossed the three steps it took, dropping to a knee in front of her.  Keeping his hands at his sides for the moment, he murmured, “I would not give the Inquisitor any less than she gives me.”

Her head spun around, green eyes wide as they met his gaze again.  He saw the hesitation, but then noticed something else as it changed and she launched herself towards him.  He moved quickly, his arms sliding around her to keep her upright, absorbing the sobs that wracked her body beneath his grasp.  He murmured quietly, what he hoped were soothing things.  Words and phrases his mother had used for him when he was young, words he’d heard his sister use with her children; all the while his hands rubbed gently against her back.

How long they were like that, Cullen would never know.  Somehow, though, they moved and he ended up sitting in the corner with her across his lap.  She calmed, but he did not press her with questions just yet.  For a time, he thought she might have fallen asleep, her head resting upon his shoulder, but she sneezed as the fur of his collar tickled her nose, emitting one of her soft, adorable squeaks afterwards, and he chuckled when he heard her grumbling softly about it.

“I do not understand why you always wear that thing,” she muttered.

Cullen’s lips curved upwards at one corner.  “Because it keeps me warm?  We are high up in the mountains, remember.”

Taryn blew a short, sharp breath past her lips, disturbing the culprit.  “It looks more cosmetic,” she groused.  “It only has real use when you are wearing your helm in battle and wish to present a certain image.”

Cullen chuckled softly causing her to glare up at him.  “You’ve been talking with Leliana I see,” he replied.  The glare didn’t last, though, and even he could see a hint of amusement behind her eyes, even if it was only a half attempt.  Part of him wanted to beg her to tell him what was troubling her.  The other part respected her silence, not wanting to dredge up uncomfortable thoughts or memories, especially if it had to do with her brother as Dorian suggested.  

The Inquisitor sighed again, dropping her head back to his shoulder and using a hand to hold down the fur so that she wouldn’t sneeze again.  Cullen, for his part, just sat holding her, arms wrapped firmly around her, offering silent support.

Her voice, when she spoke next, shook with the effort.  “I had a dream about Simon while we were in the _Wastes_.  He … Maker, Cullen, he had turned into one of those … those Red Templar things.”

Cullen’s arms tightened as his eyes closed.  Dorian had been correct in his assessment, it seemed.  “It was only a dream,” he murmured.

She shuddered almost violently.  “I know,” she acknowledged while turning so that she could curl more into his embrace.  “I know, but it … it seemed so real.  We were out on patrol, we came across more of them … only one of them was him.  I … I tried to get him to back down, to stop, but he was so far gone and then suddenly his blade was over me ….”

Groaning softly, Cullen helped her to sit until he could turn her to look him in the eyes.  “It was not real,” he repeated, tone firm like he would when giving a command to his soldiers.  “I promise you that, Ryn.”

He watched tears well up in the corners of her eyes, saw her struggling to hold them at bay.  Leaning towards her, he found her lips in a firm but gentle kiss.  A reminder to her that she was in the present.  She met his kiss with a fierceness of her own that had him wondering for half a second if she would go about attacking it like Dorian had mentioned her dream had guided her actions in battle.  Not that it would be a _bad_ thing necessarily, but ….

When she pulled back a short while later, Cullen opened his eyes to find hers, watching her every reaction.  She looked more relaxed, he realized.  Content, for the moment at least.  This was something they would need to talk about in more detail, but he suspected it would take a while for her to work through the anger and fear driving her.  Just so long as she kept talking to him.  “Would you -”  His voice cracked momentarily and he saw her smile briefly before she ducked her head so he couldn’t see her laughing.  Swallowing, he tried again.  “Would you like to go for a walk along the battlements?”  When she looked back up at him, he saw the surprise in her eyes.  Smiling himself this time, he added, “I am willing to listen if you wish to talk about it more.”

Leaning in towards him, she kissed him again, once, then moved to rise to her feet.  “I think I would like that,” she replied with obvious relief.  

Cullen rose to follow her out the door, but before she pulled the barrier open, he reached for her hand.  Taking it firmly in his, he offered her a quick smile of reassurance before holding the door open for her.

 

~ n ~

 

The battlements were, for the most part, clear except for the occasional patrol on duty.  At least here the were free from the interruptions that came from their growing numbers within the fortress.  Whether soldier, servant or guest, at the moment what was needed was distance.  Peace.  

Her hand still held firmly in his, Cullen placed himself between the Inquisitor and anyone walking by.  He would be her shield today.  

They walked slowly, without real purpose or destination than to just be there in that moment.  The wind was stronger up here, however, but Cullen noticed that did not seem to bother her.  In fact, now that he could see her in the sunlight, face lifted as she breathed in the fresh air, he noticed that his earlier observations had been correct: the lighting in the chapel had been playing tricks upon her features.  There were dark circles beneath her eyes, though not nearly so menacing as he’d first thought.  As for the rest, she appeared no worse for wear than normal, save, perhaps, a fresh yet small and minor scar along her jaw.  

He lost track of how much time passed; it was easy enough to do up here.  But the one thing he kept in mind was that he would not push her.  If she wanted to talk, he would listen.  If she chose not to, so be it.  After his own experiences at Kinloch Hold and later, Kirkwall, he understood all too well that sometimes it was better to just be in silence than to be forced into answering questions that you had no replies for.

“It really is beautiful up here.”

Her words sounded wistful, he thought.  Almost surprised.  “It is,” he agreed, walking over to stand beside her at the wall.  Staring out over the mountains beyond, it was a breathtaking sight - in a good way - and one that never failed to leave him feeling amazed and somewhat in awe afterwards.  

She kept her eyes facing outwards, but Cullen kept his on her.  He noted the slightly troubled look in the creases forming across her forehead.  “And peaceful.  One could almost forget the troubles everywhere else.”

_Almost_.  

“Unfortunately, you know it would find us again sooner or later,” he told her.  

“Hmm.  True.”  She turned to look up at him.  Again, he saw her brow wrinkle slightly and he could tell she was debating herself on something.  It was both adorable and troubling to him at the same time.  “Is it wrong to be so angry about this?” she finally asked.

Cullen leaned his arm against the wall.  “About what Corypheus is doing?  Absolutely not,” he assured her.  She opened her mouth to protest, and he jumped back in before she could, adding, “At the thought that your brother could so easily have been not just a victim in all of this, but one of Corypheus’ puppets and used against you?  Against all that he no doubt held dear?  Again, absolutely not.”  The wind gusted, toying at some of the coppery strands she had pulled back into a braid down her back and pulling a few shorter ones free.  Reaching out, he tucked them behind her ear.  “The thing you need to remember in all of this,” he said quietly, “is to not lose yourself in the grief.  Do not let it consume you.  Above all else, remember that Corypheus is the cause.”

Taryn sighed.  “I know that,” she broke in, eyes dropping to stare at her hands.  “I do! But -”

This time, Cullen reached for her hands, rubbing along the backs of them with his thumbs.  “Emotion is a good thing in healthy proportions,” he cautioned.  “Losing yourself to the anger, allowing the blindness to overtake you, that tips the scales too far.  If you are not careful, you could lose your way back.”

Her head lifted again, eyes searching his.  “You speak as if you know,” she murmured.

Cullen shrugged.  “I have been tempted along that path a time or two in my past,” he admitted slowly.  “At one point, I thought I had lost myself too far over the edge to ever return.”

“Kirkwall?”

He shook his head.  “No.  Kinloch Hold.”  Sighing, he added, “I was younger then.”

“Cullen -”

He lifted a hand to her cheek, cradling it gently.  “I am ashamed to admit just how far I fell before I realized what I had become.”

She smiled.  “I like the man you have become because of it.”

“I would not see you go through what I did,” he admitted.  “It was a difficult journey, one that could have gone a completely different way -”

Her hand lifted to mimic his as she murmured, “Cullen.”

“- but it eventually brought me to you, so I guess I won’t complain too much,” he finished.  Dropping his forehead to hers, he asked, “Will you?”

Her laughter was soft, maybe a little on the embarrassed side as he noticed her cheeks turning just a shade pinker than usual, but she did not pull away.  “Complaining gains us nothing,” she admitted.  “And I can think of better ways to spend the time.”

All it took was a slight tilt of his head and Cullen was able to kiss her.  “Indeed.”


	7. Never Before (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely an NSFW chapter! Also, I know I said it would be a five chapter mini-book, but I lied. The sixth chapter will post next week!

Never before had the distance to the far side of the great hall seemed so dauntingly out of reach.

Usual routine when returning from weeks away had the team splitting up just after entering into the courtyard.  That meant that both Iron Bull and Cassandra were gone long before Taryn even began trudging up the curved staircase into the keep itself.  Dorian, bless him, remained beside her until they were just barely over the threshold, escaping at the very last moment in the confusion of a near horde of accented voices, and a sea of masked and unmasked faces that swarmed upon them in search of ‘just a moment of your time, Inquisitor?’  Both newcomers and older acquaintances were among the mix, Josephine was still heartily and quite busily encouraging alliances it seemed.  And yet, none of them appeared to notice the slightly pained expression skating across Taryn’s features; the pinched look at the corner of eyes that still freshly recalled loss of friends and allies; the firm set to a jaw that refused to acknowledge the utter exhaustion that her other companions so clearly displayed; the slight tic at the left corner of her lips as she was jostled back and forth by those whose eagerness could not be contained; the subtle care by which she cradled her left wrist to her side, her right arm folded around it protectively.  

The mission cost them, they always did.  Still, this time had seen more losses on their part than gains against Corypheus.  She and Cassandra had discussed the implications during their return journey.  Yet back at Skyhold, it was as if no one seemed to care.  The results of this mission appeared to have no effect upon them even though Taryn knew for a fact that they had to be aware.  No, all their guests wanted was ‘a word’ with the Inquisitor.  To touch her or see the mark and marvel at the wonder.  To know that their world, at least in the immediate sense, would be safe for them because Andraste had sent her.

Eyes focused straight ahead upon the throne from which she sat in judgement of others, Taryn started her way across the room, step by hesitant step.  

_Right.  Left._  Pause for several minutes while lord so-and-so from Orlais pleaded his case.  

_Left.  Right.  Left.  Wait._  Lady what’s-her-name from Antiva, pledging support and resources.  Thank you, my lady, your offer is very kind and generous and is deeply appreciated.  

_Right.  Left.  Hop, skip, stumble._  Josephine offering an encouraging smile in between murmurings of new allies and the suggestion that Taryn see Dagna when she get the chance.  

And still, just to the left of her throne, but seemingly further away than ever, the door leading to her quarters.  Her haven.  Where she could at long last find blessed peace and solitude and, most of all, quiet, which she was in desperate need of just then.

In the end, her rescue came not in the form of the Commander - whom Taryn had _hoped_ to see but as of yet had not, which left her wondering at the state of things between them after their last visit before her departure - but in the smoother than silk tones of a man used to enticing an audience into enraptured silence with his stories.  

She was just feet from the throne and still surrounded by the multitude when his voice rang out, calling over to Gatsi for his input into the tale, and it took every ounce of effort for Taryn to not whimper like a small child in gratitude.  One by one they began to peel away, individuals and groups of two and three becoming caught up in curiosity, granting Taryn the space and freedom to flee.  Which she did with a quick wave in the dwarf’s direction and a mental note to buy him a pint at the _Herald’s Rest_ as she slipped through the door and scrambled up the stairs to her room.

Taryn almost fell backwards with the final lurch up the stairs, each successive footfall slower than the one before and balance becoming more and more precarious, but the moment she could grasp the edge of the floor, she took a peek over it and managed a small smile.  A familiar gilded glint caught her gaze, ‘winking’ at her in the light of the roaring fire.  

Where it had been scrounged from, Taryn would never know, nor would she dare ask, but she suspected that Josephine had procured it by calling in a favor or two.  The tub, with it’s intricate and ornately carved design, was overly ostentatious and looked to be something more fitted to the Empress than the Inquisitor.  The first time her eyes fell upon it - shortly after their arrival at Skyhold - Taryn protested, insisting they sell it for the funds it could raise and she would use one of the many wooden tubs that could be found around the keep like everyone else.  Scandalized, Josephine protested vehemently, and rather than spending time arguing - Taryn _had_ been covered in dried blood and dirt after weeks of travel at the time, after all - she’d shed her armor and undergarments and scrambled into the tub.  

Today was no different.

_Harding must have sent a message ahead_ , Taryn thought to herself as she removed her armor, piece by clanging piece and dropping them into a unceremonious heap behind her.  She could deal with it later.

Carefully lifting a leg over the edge, she moved to sit on the outer rim before sliding completely in, sinking slowly into the cocooning velvety warmth offered by the lightly scented water.  Lifting a damp hand to her nose, she sniffed and groaned in delight.   _Lavender.  Oh, sweet Maker, Leliana how did you know …?_  

Ignoring the soft whimpers that escaped past her lips - some of gratitude, others reminders of damage taken that had yet to fully heal - Taryn instead welcomed the soothing effects on tired muscles and aching joints.  Eyes drifting shut, she submerged briefly, just long enough to work the dirt and blood free of her face and hair, before surfacing with a loud gasping breath and settling back in relaxation.  Only then did Taryn allow herself to drift into a light doze, water shifting around her in gentle waves with each breath she took and released.  

Never before had she fully appreciated a bath as much as she did this one.

Beyond closed lids and the exhaustion that was attempting to fully shut down her brain, Taryn heard and recognized the sounds of footsteps.  That brought a smile to her lips, but she otherwise thought nothing of it.  Several members of the household staff had permission to come and go as needed during such times as these.  Taryn was used to their presence, relied on it in fact, as they knew her preferences in regards to food, drink and clothing to change into.  The scuffing noise to her right would be the small table they often set within easy reach so she could eat or drink while bathing if she so chose.  The soft rustle of bedclothes being turned down and pillows being fluffed some feet away was more welcoming than usual, and Taryn groaned softly in appreciation at the thought of slipping beneath the comfortable linens and finding her first decent night’s sleep in weeks.  

Her breathing evened out, her lashes fluttering lightly against her cheeks, Taryn was, nevertheless, still quite aware of her surroundings.  Which was why, when the footsteps approached a few moments later, pausing beside her, she recognized immediately something was not as it should have been.  Even before her eyes shot open, water sloshing over the rim of the tub and soaking the rug beneath as her hand shot up and grasped the arm extending towards her face ….

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen breathed, himself startled by her response.  “I did not mean to frighten you!”

“Cullen!”  Shocked to find him standing over her, Taryn released her hold and fell backwards into the water.  The movement caused her to sink beneath the edge of the water for a moment before springing back upwards, coughing and sputtering.  “Wh-what … are ...”

The Commander reacted instantly, kneeling beside the tub and sliding an arm around her, beneath her shoulder, to offer support as she recovered.  It was only then that Taryn realized … he was not in his usual uniform, but a simple tunic and trousers.  A tunic that was now nearly soaked through and left very little to the imagination regarding the shape and detail to the well muscled physique beneath.  

Head rising, dark auburn waves dripping scented water down her back, shocked green eyes met brown and held.  “I saw the message,” he began, cheeks darkening in the firelight with added heat of embarrassment.  “Harding told us what happened.”

Still coughing, Taryn only nodded, but she did not look away.  She saw sympathy, empathy even, behind his gaze, and she could accept that.  He, of all people, could understand the repercussions of battle easily enough.  

“Josephine mentioned something about having the staff prepare for your arrival.  I offered to inform them,” he explained.  Silence between them held for a moment longer.  

“This,” Taryn rasped, her eyes finally breaking from his to scan the area, “this looks more like your doing than the staff’s.”  Routine had its advantages, after all.  The staff’s knowledge of how she cared for things to be was something that developed over repetitive action.

Cullen’s head dipped for a moment, his glance away from her.  “Perhaps,” he admitted.  “When last we spoke -”

Taryn gasped, eyes widening as she recalled their walk along the battlements, companionable if painful discussion as they did so.   _It eventually brought me to you_ , he’d said.  Slowly but surely, their relationship was developing.  Broadening.  Expanding.  It was something she hadn’t realized she’d wanted in the earlier stages of all of this, but as it evolved and came to play a more significant role in her life, she realized just how important a role it had taken.   _HE_ had taken.  

And then there had been those few hauntingly brief kisses that did nothing but leave her wondering afterwards … and perhaps he felt the same?

The heat in her cheeks now had less to do with the temperature of the water or the flames from the hearth than the memories of those stolen moments spent in his embrace or the touch of his lips against hers.  

Emboldened by what she knew not, Taryn grasped the edges of the tub and propelled herself to her feet.  She ignored the water streaming off her just then, ignored the fact she stood before him bare as the day she’d been born, and instead reached out, running her index finger along his cheek, tracing downwards along his jaw.  She heard him gasp softly, but he did not pull away choosing to remain quite still while kneeling before her.  Their eyes met again, searching the others’ desperately for answers to questions neither was sure how to voice.  Fingers lowering further, Taryn tangled them among the laces and cloth at his throat, tightening them enough to tug once, with purpose, a move he responded to immediately by leaning up towards her.  Bending from the waist, she hovered momentarily over his lips.  

“Ryn,” he breathed in a pleading gasp, a nearly strangled sound as it broke.

That was her undoing.  Closing the distance between them, Taryn brought her other hand up, both coming to rest at his shoulders as she ghosted her lips over his.  Lightly.  Briefly.  Experimentally.  The merest flutter of touches before her tongue took over, darting out to trace the shape of his lips in an attempt to memorize it.  

Time seemed suspended, moving slower than molasses across frozen snow.  And then, quite suddenly, it sped up once again to an almost dizzying speed.  Taryn heard a growl, fierce and demanding, that was echoed almost immediately by gurgle just before Cullen surged upwards to his feet, his arms moving securely behind her back and legs, lifting her into his arms.  Unwilling to break the kiss between them, he carefully carried her over to the bed and only then did he gently lay her down, moving to sit beside her on the mattress, still hovering over her.  Calloused fingertips moved lightly across her cheeks even as he deepened the kiss.  

It wasn’t until Taryn broke the contact in order to suck in huge draughts of air that she reached back towards him.  “Do not leave me this time,” she rasped, one hand sneaking beneath the hem of his tunic and coming to rest upon the solid wall of muscle that was his abdomen before curling around the waist of his trousers.  

She heard him inhale sharply at the contact, but to his credit he did not try to pull away from her.  “I wouldn’t … dream of it,” he promised.

She released her hold on his trousers and moved her hand to rest flush against his stomach once again.  As her fingers began to explore upwards, little by little, she kept her eyes locked onto his closely observing his reaction.  There was a small tic at his left eye, but she didn’t think it was something that troubled him overmuch as he did not rub at it with his hand.  Instead, he reached for the hem of his tunic, pulling it up and over his head quickly before tossing the linen across the room.  In the light of the fire, she noticed the light spray of curly hair across his chest.  Desire, keen and sharp, coursed through her in that moment, and her hand obeyed quickly and without any particular guidance to do so.  The instant that her fingers tangled in the springy mass, she whimpered softly.  She noticed he was not unaffected either, his eyes closing and the beginnings of a growl escaping his lips.  “Cullen?”

His hand moved quickly to cover hers.  “Don’t stop,” he insisted quickly.

Taryn chuckled softly and grasped his upper arm with her other hand, pulling herself up into a semi-reclined position.  “It was not my intention to do so,” she promised, leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder.  

While she continued to tease her fingers across the plane of his chest, his hands caught her by her hips and helped steady her into a more upright position, one where he could find the ultra sensitive area of her neck where it joined the shoulder and start working a trail of kisses along her the edge.  The rough stubble on his cheeks and chin sensitized the area as well, and Taryn found herself gasping repeatedly in response.  At the same time, her fingers tightened, clutching at the chest hair, her nails digging into his skin.

“Maker!”  

Taryn chuckled softly at the exclamation.  “Do you like that, Commander?” she asked.

He shuddered beneath her hand, his eyes searching hers.  “How did you even know …”

“You may be my first,” she breathed, leaning in to nuzzle at his neck gently, “but I am not completely uneducated.”  He stiffened at her words and she pulled back to see a stunned look cross his face as her words registered.  Grinning sheepishly, she explained, “My family has an … extensive library, shall we say?  And I had all the time in the world to explore it.”

There was a moment of silence in which he stared in disbelief, but that was soon followed by an amused chuckle.  “You are an avid reader, I see,” he mused, his voice dropping an octave.

“Mmmm.  Theory is good,” she replied, a light flush filling her cheeks, “but practice, as they say, makes perf-  Cullen!”

He was careful, but as she spoke, he began leaning in towards her.  Taryn’s body responded accordingly, bending backwards over his arm part of the way.  But until his lips latched around one of her nipples, covering it completely and following with his tongue circling around it as well, she hadn’t realized just what his intentions were.  

He reached for a pillow, placing it behind her back and then lowering her on top of it, maintaining the position.  Taryn felt white hot heat slice through her, straight from head to core.  She heard a small whimper, a sound that seemed to beg for more, and belatedly realized it had escaped her lips.  Arching her back further, one of her hands scrabbled against his shoulder searching for something to hold on to even as she felt a soft wave of shudders begin surging through her.  With each deep pull of his lips, she recognized a corresponding wave of heat building between her legs.  

Cullen released her a moment later, and Taryn lifted her head, ready to protest because, sweet Andraste, that had been wonderful!, but he did not leave her wanting for long.  Simply shifting to his left, Cullen repeated the procedure with the other side, and this time laughed deeply while still continuing his ministrations, when her hips bucked up against his in response.  “Patience!” he advised.  “I have waited for this for a long time.”

She searched his face - or attempted to.  Seeing through crossed eyes was difficult at best.  “Wh-what do you mean … ‘for a long time?’”  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and tried to hold back a slightly less quiet groan when his lips began trailing a path lower.  “Cullen?”

He relented, pushing himself upwards on his arm.  She blinked, eyes coming back to focus to find him leaning over her and staring down.   _Maker!_ she thought, her eyes locking onto his.  She should be burning with the hooded look in his eyes!  

“I’m not sure when I first realized my feelings for you might be … more than casual,” he admitted honestly.  Struggling to catch her breath, Taryn simply nodded against the bedding beneath her.  “I _can_ tell you that your sudden disappearance at Adamant is something I hope I never have to live through again.”

Her hand rose, tracing a line from his temple down his cheek until the pad of her thumb could run along the top of his lower lip.  “I am so sorry I made you worry,” she whispered, guilt bypassing desire for the time being.

He was quiet for a moment, and though his eyes remained focused intently on hers, Taryn thought perhaps she had unwittingly broken the mood.  “It is the price we pay for what we do,” he finally replied.  “I learned to accept that a long time ago.  There is always a chance - as soldier, as templar,” he managed a smile for her, “especially as _Inquisitor_ \- that we might not come back.  My only regret at that time was that I had not told you … even though I’d only just realized it myself.”

She pushed herself upright and Cullen backed away to give her space.  When he moved to the edge of the bed, his legs hanging over the edge, Taryn reached out, her fingers grazing lightly over his shoulder.  “Please stay.”

His earlier smile returned, widening and taking on a much more seductive look.  “I do not intend to leave until you tell me to go,” he assured her.

She was tempted to tell him ‘never,’ but now was not the time for such declarations.  Instead, she matched his smile with one of her own.  “In that case,” she said, “do you not think you are a bit overdressed for the occasion?”  She leaned towards him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing herself against his back.  

One of his hands rose to hers even as he groaned; a low, rumbling sound deep from his chest.  “Maker’s mercy, Ryn,” he breathed a moment later.  “If this is your first time, I do not wish to -”

Taryn sighed.  “As I said before,” she assured him, “I am not completely uneducated.”

His laughter echoed around them.  “Neither am I, as you no doubt could tell just now.”

A smirk pulled at her lips at his announcement.  “Oh really?” she teased, rising to her knees so that she could slide slowly down against him along his back.  “And just how _do_ young templars educa -”

“Maker’s breath!”  His protest was simultaneous with rising to his feet and turning to face her.  In the process, one hand dropped to her waist, holding her steady even as he pulled her upwards with the other, sliding it around to the back of her head and pulling her close so that he could silence her with a kiss.

He caught the sound escaping her at the fierceness of his attack, swallowing it even as his lips and tongue demanded more.  Taryn was at a loss to deny him.  Her response became less than thought out and more reliant upon instinct, hands roaming across his shoulders, down his arms, lingering at his chest before descending lower.  She teased the flesh just above the waist of his trousers, light caresses fluttering along the path before dipping below the edge along his abdomen.  She laughed softly when he broke their kiss, pulling back sharply with a hissing gasp.

“Andraste preserve me!”

Mischief glinting in her eyes, her lips curved upwards, her tongue darting out to trace their shape.  He stared at her, eyes following every sensual swipe, even knowing that she was doing it on purpose.  “Something wrong, Commander?” she asked innocently, still holding the edge of the fabric between her fingers.

One hand lowered to hers, gently encircling her wrist.  “Ryn …!”  

She grinned when she saw his Adam’s apple bob once then again.  Leaning closer to him, she was encouraged when he did not step backwards.  Freeing her wrist, she used her hand to tug at the tie closure, loosening it so that she could then move both hands to finally lower both beneath the edge of the fabric and lightly caress his skin while pushing the trousers over his hips and allowing them to fall to the floor.  “That is much better,” she commented with a grin.  “Do you not agree?”

Carefully, Cullen stepped free of the clothing, nudging it to the side and out of the way with his foot before placing a knee onto the mattress and moving closer.  “If it pleases you,” he began, chuckling when she rolled her eyes and batted at his hand as he reached for hers.

“I hardly think this is the time for -” she started but then stopped suddenly, her eyes caught by a flicker of the firelight against his skin.  Eyes reacting without thought, she dropped her gaze … and gasped at what she found.  “Cullen!”

His sigh was resigned and his eyes shut for the briefest of moments, even as hers darted back up to his face.  “That …?  How …?  Cullen, what happened?” she breathed, her hand moving towards his hip and the area of marked flesh.  

It was inevitable, she knew that.  Understood and accepted it.  The life of a soldier was one of constant danger at varying levels.  Scars and marks and injuries were to be expected.  But this?  Her fingers traced the length and shape of it.  It was an older mark, fully healed by the looks of it, but that did not hide the severity of the injury.  

“It is nothing,” he replied.  

“Cullen.”  Her tone was one that brooked no argument.  She would not be put off by something that clearly had been troublesome at one point in time.

Another sigh.  “It looks worse than it was?” he tried.

Her fingers continued to work along the area, shifting from light caresses to a gentle kneading, massaging touch.  She could feel the thickness from the scar tissue beneath and swallowed back a cringe at what could possibly have caused such a devastating wound.  

Grasping both of her hands, he raised them to his lips, pressing light kisses to her knuckles.  Her eyes followed his movements, meeting his a moment later.  “It was during the mage rebellion in Kirkwall,” he told her.  “I promise, I am fine.”

“Does it give you trouble?” she asked.  

“Only on cold, damp days,” he replied, “or when certain Inquisitors will not listen when I tell them I am alright.”

She gasped, having bought into his reply, given in a complete deadpan tone, until the very end when a smirk got the better of him.  “Cullen!”

Chuckling, he brought one of her hands to lay flat against his chest and held it there.  “Will you believe me now?” he asked.

Taryn sighed, irritated that he could so easily have caught her like that.  “That depends,” she finally replied.

His brow lifted.  “Oh?  I would think that my earlier actions would have convinced you -”

“It depends on how well you make it up to me.”  Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she turned the tables back on him.

“Is that so?” he smirked.

Taryn expected a retaliation of sorts after this interchange, but even though she thought she was prepared, she could not stop a squeal from escaping as he implemented his plan.  He lunged towards her, despite their close proximity, pushing her backwards onto the bed once more.  As they both tumbled to the surface, he rolled slightly to his side to keep most his weight off of her.  His arms coming to rest either side of her face, he stared down at her, breathing slightly raspy, eyes filled with purpose.  

Taryn’s own breath caught and she could feel his gaze staring right down into the depths of her soul.  Her mouth suddenly dry, she nodded instead of speaking even as his hands began to move.  Beginning at her face, he traced a path and pattern along her body, from head to toe and then back again.  Taryn kept her eyes upon his, watching his reaction as he explored even as she tried to do something similar to him.  

Slowly, sensually, he slid down the length of her body and Taryn could not keep from moaning softly at the feel of him against her like this.  His breath fluttered across her abdomen as he planted gentle kisses along the skin.  His fingers moved slowly, stealthily up the inner portion of her thighs causing her to gasp and move sharply against him when he reached his destination.  Shifting her hips awkwardly, she made room for him while hooking one of her legs around his, her heel stroking up and down his calf.  

Cullen snuck a glance upwards, lifting his head so their eyes could meet, then stretching upwards.  Taryn leaned towards him halfway until their lips met, tangling together, gently at first but with increasing demand even as his fingers began to explore her more intimately.  He swallowed her cry, deepening the kiss and darting his tongue inside to tease hers.  Tightening her leg around him, Taryn began to rock her hips against his hand in a more desperate, if somewhat quieter, plea.  Lowering her hands to his upper arms, she began tugging at him, urging him to move closer.  He finally broke their kiss, dropping his forehead against hers and nuzzling her cheek as they both struggled to breathe.  

“Cullen!” Taryn gasped a moment later, her body tightening around him in an attempt to stop his attentions.  “Wait … not yet … oh, Maker, please!”

Cullen’s laughter was deep, warm and sinfully erotic against her ear.  “Make up your mind,” he growled seductively, teasing her both with words and touch.  

The first violent shudder rippled through her a moment later and Taryn reacted on instinct.  Reaching down, she grasped his wrist, tugging it hard and pulling it away.  Cullen, his eyes still locked onto hers, kissed her again, this time with a ferocity Taryn had come to expect of him in battle.  Setting a forearm to either side of her head, he repositioned himself, biting back a groan as he did so.  “Ryn -”

“Now,” she insisted, still breathy as she raised her legs, wrapping them tightly around his hips.  His hands found hers and she laced her fingers through his.  She watched him swallow hard, concern growing, but she offered a fiery look in response.  “Please ….”

Slowly, carefully, Cullen did as she asked, all the while keeping his gaze locked to hers for any indication she wished to stop.  With each rocking motion of his hips against hers, he saw her eyes widen, heard her breathing hitch, felt her opening for him and welcoming him completely.  “Sweet Andraste!” he breathed, his eyes closing once they were fully joined.

Taryn pulled a hand from his, looping it around his shoulder to slide up into his hair, fingers threading through and curling tightly around the shape of his head.  “Don’t,” she breathed, “stop!”

His eyes opened again and found hers.  “Never,” he replied, his own voice jagged.

Taryn whimpered softly when he followed his promise with action.  He started slowly, but with each movement he gained speed.  Power.  Momentum.  It took every effort for her to keep her focus on him and not go flying away into pieces just yet.  She wanted to savor this - the feel of him inside her, the scent of him, the unadulterated joy at sharing a side of herself with him that no one else had ever seen.  She followed his lead, her own hips moving in unison with his, even as she pulled him close for another drugging kiss.  

“Ryn ….”

Hearing her nickname cross his lips with such emotion and passion behind it nearly pushed her over the edge.  In return, she began chanting his name.  That too, she noticed, had an effect on him.  For the briefest of moments, she thought she could see the same fierceness and desire in his eyes and the reason behind why he might have selected the armor he had.  Lion, indeed!

Cullen pulled his hand from hers, sliding it down her side and around her hip until he could pull her leg up towards her chest just a bit more.  Taryn opened her mouth to question this … until she felt him move even deeper within.  Desire stronger than any she’d felt before now surged through her with a power and force that was frightening.  Both hands settling at his shoulders, her eyes widened even as she felt her breathing pattern becoming more frantic.  Wave after wave of tremors - small at first, increasing in strength and duration incrementally - shot through her limbs.  She heard the echoes of her voice crying out his name repeatedly as it surrounded them, blending with his deeper tones.  It seemed to happen all at once and yet take forever to push her over the precipice until she finally began to fall ….

 


	8. Things That Go Bump (F)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter in this mini-fic, but by no means the last chapter of this entire work! Stay tuned for more adventures ...

He’d been working too hard of late.  Not getting enough rest.  Worrying over things he could not control.  With her away on a mission, however, it was easier to forget the simple things.  To stay up longer than he should to finish ‘one last report.’  To skip a meal.  To ….  

He should have known better.  

And then, of course, when word finally arrived informing them of the Inquisitor’s impending arrival back at the fortress, he would have been better to leave the preparations to others as he’d said he would do in the first place ….

 

~ n ~

 

_Hoary images of the past … of faces known and respected … Haunting voices evoking terror, devastation and destruction … Death … Bodies frozen in time and place … Words that spoke against years of training and ritual pulled from those with the most hardened of hearts … The Chant of Light, twisted and bent so out of shape as to have no meaning resembling what it should have been … Pressure … Weight … No place to move … No way to breathe … Everything closing in around him … pressing down … holding him captive … imprisoning him for all eternity … Alone …_

_Fighting back ...  Shoving against the heaviness that pinned him down ...  A fist ...  A foot ...  Weapons of improvisation but just as effective ...  The weight would not remain ...  He would not be kept prisoner this time ... HE COULD NOT …._

 

~ n ~

 

Bolting upright, Cullen struggled to draw in a breath deep enough to inflate lungs that felt impossibly flat.  Empty.  “Not again,” he groaned painfully, fists closing and pounding angrily against the mattress beneath him.  “Not again!”

“Cullen?”

It was _her_ voice.  Even through closed eyes, the terror of nightmarish memories, the odd quality of the sound in his ears, he recognized that much.  A lifeline back to sanity.  Reality.

Eyes popping open, Cullen searched through the darkness.  The fire had diminished while they were sleeping, but still offered a soft glow of orange to aid.  Turning, he found her standing part way across the room.  She was straightening, as if rising from the floor, her arm gingerly cradled to her chest, hesitance written all over her stance.  Blinking, Cullen rose to his feet and took several strides in her direction …

… only to watch her retreat from him just as many.  Confused, he asked, “Ryn, what -?”

“Who is Annlise?”

Cullen froze mid-step, arm dropping to his side heavily as his face fell, the truth beginning to take shape and form around him.   _Maker, no!  Anything but that!_  

Sighing heavily, he murmured, “Ryn …”

“Who is she?”

There was no demand in the question, but that didn’t lighten the weight of its import.  

“She was a templar,” Cullen finally managed with eyes downcast, though with some difficulty as he fought the tightening at his throat, “at Kinloch Hold.  One of those less fortunate than I ….”  A shudder worked through well muscled shoulders as his hand rose and combed through sleep tousled hair, coming to rest at the nape of his neck a moment later.  

Eyes rising to meet hers, he thought he could see a wall starting to form in the space between them.  Brick by Maker-blasted brick.  Dream by dream.  One upon another it rose, higher and higher.  Horror forming the blocks and mortared together by despair.

Swallowing tightly, Cullen stared at her for a very long moment.  His mind was awhirl with the possibilities to what had just occurred, though he had a good guess.  But there was only one way to find out for certain.  “What … what happened just now?”  He dreaded her response.  

“You were crying out,” Taryn explained, her eyes searching his.  “Hers was the only name I caught clearly.”

He nodded in resignation, both hands coming around rub over his face.  It wasn’t a surprise, really.  Annlise had been one of his few close friends at the Circle.  In the end, after Uldred’s attack, they’d fought side by side until overwhelmed by the demons and taken captive.  Of all of them, she’d been the last one he’d seen alive ….  

“What happened to your arm?”

Her head dipped briefly before looking back up at him.  “You … threw me off you,” she whispered.  “I -”

He grimaced.  “Oh, Maker!”  Horror struck him hard, wounding deep.  Covering his face with his hands, Cullen’s voice was muted when he told her, “It … it wasn’t you ....  I … there …”  His hands lowered enough for his eyes to find hers again before darting off around the room, nerves exhausted beyond their limits and now shot full of adrenaline, sorrow, and guilt.  “I … need to explain.”

She didn’t move except to nod her head in acknowledgement.  That was a good sign, at least.

Feeling the urge to do _some_ thing, Cullen turned towards the hearth.  He focused a few minutes on rekindling the fire, adding both warmth and light to the room, before turning back to face her.  Staring at her for a long moment, he told her sincerely, “I never meant to hurt you.”

She nodded again, but remained where she stood.  

Swallowing past the knot of nerves playing havoc with his throat just then, he started pacing back and forth.  “I’ve told you what happened at the Ferelden Circle.”  

“Yes.”

He scrubbed his face with his hands before turning to face the fire and continuing.  “Several of us were caught inside the tower with the mages and the abominations when Knight-Commander Greagoir sealed it.  We did our best to fight them back, but we were outnumbered and they caught us.”  He wiped his hand across his forehead, the sweat trickling onto his hand.  Did she have any idea just how difficult it was for him to talk about this?  “One by one, they took us.  First Beval … Then Farris … Then Annlise … Until I was the only one left.  Alone.  Caught in some sort of prison.  I could barely move or breathe ….”

Glancing over his shoulder in her direction, he admitted, “This is my fault.  I’ve been pushing too hard of late.  Not getting enough rest.”

Taryn’s lips curved almost imperceptibly in sympathy at the edges.  “Worrying too much?”

His bark of laughter was strained.  Rough.  “That too.  The dreams are always there, but those are certain triggers that lead to such extreme reactions.”  Turning completely, he stood in place but extended a hand towards her.  He began to pray silently.  “Ryn, I would never willingly bring harm to you.”

The Maker, or at least Andraste, appeared to be listening.  Taryn took one step towards him, then another.  Slow, sure, confident.  Cullen was surprised how much of a help that alone could be to his state of mind at present.  It was clear she was not afraid of him.  Her training was nearly as extensive as his own; he knew she could defend herself.  He’d seen it for himself in the training yards and on the battlefields.

When she came to a halt right in front of him, Taryn lifted her good hand to caress his cheek.  Cullen’s sigh of relief rattled softly around them and he gave in, leaning into the touch.  “I know,” she replied.  Leaning up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his lips.  “If I ever had any doubts, Cullen, they were never about you or your intentions.”

Lowering his head towards her, he reached out to pull her closer.  “Your arm, then?”

Taryn shook her head.  “I aggravated it while we were gone,” she explained.  “When this happened, I landed on it awkwardly.”  Her smile was reassuring.  “I am fine, Cullen, I promise.  I will have Dorian look at it later if necessary.”  

Sighing, she leaned against him.  Cullen was more than happy to wrap his arms around her and draw her against him.  “How often does this sort of thing happen?” she asked.

Cullen shrugged.  “This bad?  Usually only if I have overworked myself,” he told her.  “The nightmares are always there - not taking the lyrium ensures that.  But the more violent reactions are, thank the Maker, much more uncommon.”  

Taryn slipped her good arm around his waist, fingers pressing lightly at his spine.  “As delightful as it is, I suppose I will just have to learn to not lie on top of you from now on while we sleep.”

He leaned down to kiss her forehead.  “We will figure something out,” he promised.  The forgiveness in her acceptance did not escape him just then.  “If we are careful about it … I think I could learn to like that, too.”

They stood in silence for a time, thinking their own thoughts.  Holding each other close.  But in the process, a sudden and unexpected thought hit him and his shoulder shook as horror returned with renewed force.  “Oh, Maker!  If we had been in my rooms,” he breathed, “I might have tossed you out of the loft entirely.”

He was a bit surprised when her only reaction to this observation was to start laughing.  “Then we will just have to make sure you find your way up here more often,” she replied, lips curving more fully upwards.  “Won’t we, Commander?”

Cullen realized she was telling him several things with that one statement, not the least of which was that she was wanting their relationship to continue despite its rocky start.  Amazement filled him.  Returning her smile, he leaned towards her ear and murmured, “If that is what the Inquisitor wishes ….”

 


End file.
